This year’s Christmas was always going to be a bit of a doozy with my mum in hospital – the old chestnut of trying to be everywhere, to everyone, all at once. But we did it! Gosh darn it we did it. I probably gained seventy new grey hairs (at least!) but, we did it. Exhale…
Christmas Eve and morning was spent in Inverloch with Matt’s family, which was a nice change of scenery and pace. We haven’t had a Christmas morning with his parents for…ever? I can’t remember. But definitely not with children. The girls were not *quite* up to the excitement levels I was anticipating…perhaps another year for Eleanor. Santa sacks were laid out though, and carrots for the reindeer and biscuits and milk for the big guy in red.
After the wrapping paper was strewn akimbo and the pudding had bubbled away on the stove for an hour, we headed down the highway to Melbourne – Christmas lunch on the lawn of the Caulfield hospital beckoned. Mum, the original Christmas crazy lady, being in hospital for Christmas didn’t stop us: we brought Christmas to her. Ham and turkey and plum pudding, and grand girls x7. This Christmas, if nothing else, showed me how it really makes no difference where you are, it’s who you’re with, that matters the most. A picnic style Christmas lunch with some competitive cricket and princess dresses and champagne a’clinking (ok a dull plastic flute ‘clunk’) with my favourite people. A merry, merry Christmas.
Then to pack the show up and head back to the farm for Christmas dinner at Dad’s…children getting to bed at 11.30pm (less than ideal), then: back to Inverloch on Boxing Day (not before loading some lambs in the morning, naturally). Let’s just say that Boxing Day bedtime did not go well. Much screaming and tantrum throwing. And that was just Mummy. The day after Boxing Day Matt was off back to the farm to do irrigators, the girls and I lasted approximately six hours on our ‘holiday’ at his parents in Inverloch before I packed the whole show up and headed for the hills. There may have been a milkshake thrown across a cafe and a broken tiara disaster. Home we came. A few days of normality to ease the overtired, overstimulated, Christmas carnage that is this time of year with a four and two year old.
But, tantrums and tiara throwing aside…this right here is all that matters to me this Christmas.
This mad mob who I am bloody lucky enough to call my own.
There’s magic in madness.
Celebrating the story of poor migrant family giving birth to a baby in a barn is a powerful one.
A reminder to us that life doesn’t always play out the way we expect.
Not even close.
I hope your Christmas was merry and bright, joyous and pudding filled and utterly, madly, crazily love laden. Big love.